


A Patch of Heaven

by miss_squid



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 80s Southern Belle AU, Bridesmaid Trixie, F/F, Fluff, Groomsman Katya, Katya Ginger and Violet are from Florida, One Shot, and Trixie is from Wisconsin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_squid/pseuds/miss_squid
Summary: Katya is a last minute groomsman for Ginger's wedding and is paired with a bridesmaid who flew in all the way from Milwaukee.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on DI, but I watched Steel Magnolias the other day and started writing a southern belle au instead oops
> 
> This is heavily unedited, I apologize!! I just wanted to get this out here so maybe I could have the inspiration to start working on the stuff I'm supposed to again.

Katya wakes up to the sound of her alarm clock blaring. She awakes with a start, eyes shooting open and body propelling herself out of bed. She rubs at her eyes, willing the sleep to leave them. She could barely sleep last night, though she guesses that Ginger probably couldn’t either. It’s the day of her best friend’s wedding and Katya needs to make sure that everything goes perfect. The windows are open and the summer breeze is making the curtains billow and dance. Katya would normally take the time to admire them, maybe even sketch them, but right now there’s no time, no time at all. She shimmies out of her maroon pajamas, her pants catching on her ankles and almost causing her to trip. She catches herself on the wardrobe, the sudden motion causing the furniture to wobble and for several cologne bottles to clink against one another. She hops out of her pajama pants and throws them to the corner of the room. She busts through the bedroom door, through the hallway and down the stairs to the small kitchen area. She pours herself a cold cup of coffee that she made last night so she wouldn’t have to wait in the morning. She doesn’t have a microwave yet, though all the mothers in town are booming about how much they love theirs. She drinks it black and cold, gulping it down before throwing the empty mug in the sink. The commotion causes one of the doors upstairs to open and for her roommate Violet to call, “Lord, why are you banging around this early in the morning? It’s barely 6 o’clock!”

“Have you forgotten that we have a wedding to attend today, Violet?” Katya calls back up. She stomps back up the stairs and sprints into the shared bathroom.

“That’s today? Shit,” Violet curses and slams her bedroom door closed.

“It’s not lady-like to curse!” Katya says as she takes her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the little cup on the sink.

“Like you ever cared about being lady-like!” Violet retorts, her voice muffled by the door. Katya can hear plastic ruffling as Violet tries to take her bridesmaid dress out of its wrappings. 

Katya jams her toothbrush into her mouth and starts brushing, filling up the cup with water with her free hand, and watering the plants on the windowsill. The bathroom is so bland: white tiles, white toilet, white bath, so Katya and Violet try to make it as homey as they can. The plants have since outgrown their pots and have stems trailing down the walls and along the floor. There has been many a night where they’ve tripped on them trying to make it to the toilet, but they don’t have it in their hearts to move them from the bathroom. It’s like home to them. Katya spits out the toothpaste in the sink and uses the remainder of the water in the cup to swish the toothpaste left in her mouth. She spits out the water and lets it swirl down the drain. She slams the toothbrush and toothpaste back in the cup and sprints down the hall back to her room. From behind Violet’s door, she can hear her struggling to put on the dress, a long string of curses leaving her mouth. Katya swing open the door of her own closet to retrieve her groomsman suit. 

She laughed when Ginger and Christopher requested that she be a groomsman. One of Christopher’s groomsmen copped out on them last minute and they had an uneven number of bridesmaids and groomsmen as a result. It didn’t take much convincing, honestly. The thought of wearing a suit with a dainty, blushing bridesmaid on her arm appealed to her much more than wearing a poofy gown anyways. 

She takes the suit from its plastic encasing and carefully places it on the bed. She can hear a thump from her and Violet’s shared wall as the burlesque dancer still struggles in her dress. Sighing, Katya exits her room and knocks on Violet’s door.

“D’you need any help in there, Vi?” she says.

“Come help me pull this over my head! I’m not used to all of this fabric!” she replies, exasperated.

Katya laughs, rolls her eyes, and opens the door. She sees Violet with her arms sticking up, partly through the sleeves, and her head covered by the dress. Katya screeches outright at the sight, her normally graceful and dignified roommate tripping over the red taffeta of the dress.

“Shut it! Come help me with this! I can’t fit my head through!” Violet yells.

Katya goes over behind Violet and tugs down on her dress, biting down on her tongue to suppress a wave of giggles. When it doesn’t give, Katya says, “Straighten your arms, it’s getting caught on your shoulders. I’m gonna pull down on it.”

Violet lifts her arms until they’re completely straight, grumbling all the while. Katya tries again, tugging harder at the fabric. Violet pops her head the rest of the way through. Her usually meticulous curls are mussed and frizzy. 

“Alright, I assume you’ll get yourself all situated before we need to leave,” Katya says, then grins. “Or do I need to brush your hair, too? Just like your mama?”

Violet grunts in frustration and attempts to flatten her hair with her hands. “I don’t need you of all people telling me how to fix my hair. Now get over to your own room and put your damn suit on!”

Katya laughs as she waltzes out of the room. “A little ‘thank you’ would be nice, sweetheart!” She closes the door as Violet takes off her shoe and chucks it at her. It hits the door with a thump.

She dashes back to her own room and slips on her suit. She snaps on the suspenders and buttons the overcoat with ease, marvels at the deepness of the pockets. She struggles with the tie, cursing at herself for zoning out when her brother attempted to teach her.

Violet strolls into Katya’s room, her hair perfectly in place. She smirks as Katya fumbles with the fabric. She pushes past her, rooting around in her closet for one of Katya’s old smocks. When she grabs one, she throws it over her shoulder, one of the poofs on her shoulders deflating. She turns to Katya and swats her hands away from the tie. Katya lets it dangle on her shoulders as Violet ties it with her nimble fingers. Her fingernails are unevenly painted red and Katya remembers how they tried to paint each others nails last night. Katya’s are flawlessly painted, Violet’s careful hands going over her nails with a tiny brush. Katya couldn’t say that she gave the same care to Violet’s. Her hand was shaking as she brushed the polish over her nails, catching over her skin. Violet laughed, said it was okay, but didn’t bother to fix it. Though the polish has rubbed off her skin, some parts are still darker than others. Katya forgets for a moment that she needs to hurry and lets herself get lost in the quiet domesticity between them.

“Who’s the mama now?” Violet speaks up, a grin stretching her face.

“Nah, you’re more like my wife,” Katya says, shaking her head. Violet laughs then pulls the tie tight. She smooths over Katya’s dress shirt and brushes imaginary dust off her shoulders, then kisses her on the cheek. 

“In your dreams! You would be so lucky to have me.” Violet slinks her arms around her shoulders, then throws her head back and laughs. Katya winds her arm around her waist.

It would be so easy to marry Violet. There’s a rhythm between them that works so well and marriage would only accentuate that rhythm. Katya mainly provides for them, driving into the city as a museum curator Mondays through Fridays. Violet has dinner ready for her every night and they sit in front of the tv on the couch or at the dining room table to talk about their days. Katya has off on the weekends, which is when Violet works at the burlesque club. Katya wakes up early to catch Violet as she comes home, and makes her a pile of pancakes. Violet mumbles her thanks and heads upstairs to peel her costumes off before joining Katya. It’s perfectly domestic, but there’s something missing that Katya craves. She doesn’t know what it is yet, but she guesses she’ll figure it out once she meets the right person. Though living in a small town, she’s afraid she might never get that chance.

“Might as well! People talk about us all the time. Why not make the rumors true?” Katya says.

“You would need to cut your hair shorter. You don’t look enough like a boy to trick any pastor,” Violet rebuts, pinching a lock of Katya’s blonde hair between her fingers. “Besides, don’t you have a bridesmaid to woo today?”

“Yeah, but what if she turns out straight? Will you marry me then?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Violet says, pushing at Katya’s shoulders. “If you don’t find a pretty lady at this wedding to sweep off her feet, then I’ll marry you. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” Katya gives Violet one last kiss on her cheek before releasing her and going back to her suit. Violet’s footsteps can be heard leaving the room and clicking down the hall, opening the bathroom door. Katya pins the white rose to the lapel of her suit with ease and turns to the entrance of her bedroom, where she can see Violet at the other end of the hall. She’s put on Katya’s old painting smock, protecting her dress while she puts on her makeup. Katya strides down the hall to the bathroom and bumps hips with Violet to get her to move over a bit. She opens up the medicine cabinet, makes sure not to hit Violet with it, and takes out her own makeup. The two of them always were the source of all sorts of jealous housewives’ rumors, mainly because of their makeup. The rest of the women in town are conservative, only patting on blush and swiping on mascara, but her and Violet take it to the next level. Their medicine cabinet is full of makeups and their coffee table is stacked with magazines. Every month they take a drive together to the city to get more, always collecting new crazy shades of lipstick and eyeshadow. Today, they both stick to their classic smokey eye and red lip. Violet’s is much more clean, using brushes to swipe powder onto her eyelids. Katya just rubs her black eyeshadow onto her finger and applies it to her eyelid. She takes a quick look at her watch, double-takes, and gasps.

“Violet, we need to go! Are you done?” She says, panicked. She shoves her makeup back into the cabinet and runs back into her room to grab her bag. It’s already all packed with everything she needs and peeps her head back in the entrance. “Violet?”

Violet flourishes her wrist once more before throwing down her brush, not even bothering to put her makeup away, and rips the smock off of her. She tosses it back behind her onto the plants. “I’m ready, I’m ready, let’s go,” Violet says.

“Where’s your hat?” Katya strains.

“Shit, it’s in my room! Whatever, I’ll just grab it and put it on in the car,” Violet says and power walks to her bedroom.

Katya flies down the stairs, fishes for her keys in her bag, and throws open the screen door. She holds it open for Violet, watching her as she descends the stairs much more slowly, holding the taffeta in her arms and watching each step she makes. Clutched in her hand is her matching red wide-brim hat. Once she reaches the bottom, she dashes past Katya, out the door, wrenches open the passenger door, and climbs in. The other woman jogs after her, tears open the door of her Honda, and slams it closed. She jams the keys into the ignition and pulls the stick in reverse, then backs out of the dirt driveway. She slams on the gas and speeds down the street.

They sit in silence for the entirety of the trip, the occasional pothole making the car thunk and Violet wince. They pull up to the church and circle the parking lot before parking in the front row. There’s a couple cars dotting the parking lot, no question most of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Katya struts to the other side of the car and opens it for Violet, grabbing her hand and helping her out of the car. She takes some of Violet’s dress and piles it in her arms, leaning to make sure that it won’t get caught in the car door before closing it.

“Ugh, I hate this dress,” the black-haired woman complains. She picks at the gigantic sleeves and rolls her eyes. Katya slaps her arm.

“Shush, it’s Ginger’s wedding. You wear that skintight stuff all the time. You can deal with all of this—“ Katya gestures to the entirety of her dress. “—for one day.”

“You’re not the one who has to wear it, you dyke,” Violet retorts.

“And thank god. Now come on, everybody else is gonna be here soon and we have to be in position.”

 

* * *

 

The wedding is a beautiful, expensive affair. Extravagant as ever, Ginger and her fiancé decided on a Snow White-themed wedding, based on the school musical that brought them together. From what Katya can see through the door window, the church pews are bursting with roses and lilies, chiffon blue ribbons hanging from every column the building has. Little cloth butterflies hang from the ceiling and twirl on their clear plastic strings. The stain glass windows reflect pinks and yellows and blues onto the mahogany floors. Katya silently compliments how Ginger managed to find a church that fit the color scheme down to the pane. Friends and family members are dressed in their finest church outfits, women adorned in decadent hats and silk gloves, mothers picking at their sons’ tiny suits and their daughters’ frill dresses. Husbands sit bored, chiding at their children to listen to their mother. Ginger’s husband Christopher stands nervously at the front of the church with the pastor, hands wrung together, but still has that ever present smile plastered on his face.

Katya remembers when Ginger first introduced her to Christopher. Well, Katya already knew him— they’ve lived together in the same town, after all. With a graduating class of no more than 140, Katya knew almost every young person in town. However, with her in the arts program and him and Ginger in the theatre program, their paths never crossed much until the day that Ginger pulled him along to her and Katya’s lunch table. 

Ginger had them acquainted, flicking her eyes to either one of them to gauge their reactions to one another. They both smiled politely and shook hands, Katya raking her eyes over him, judging him. She squeezed his hand a bit tighter than necessary as a warning to him. Though he was an upperclassman to her, a glimmer of fear sparked in his eyes. Katya smirked, letting his hand go. “Nice to meet you, Christopher,” she drawled, keeping her eyes focused on him. She knew that he was one of the good ones, but a little intimidation never hurt anybody. 

“You too, Katya,” he said, nodding his head at her in courtesy.

“Jesus, don’t act like she’s my mother or nothin’!” Ginger said, smacking his arm playfully. She didn’t notice the tension between them: the analyzing, judgmental gazes Katya was throwing at him, trying to figure him out, and Christopher’s nervous glances between her and Ginger.

She had confronted him afterwards, pushed him against the lockers and asked him questions about Ginger and his intentions toward her. He was a stammering mess, the poor boy.

“My mama raised me right, ma’am, I swear! I would never do anything to hurt Ginger!” He stuttered. She squinted, trying to find any indication that he was lying. When she found none, she reluctantly eased her grip on his shirt.

“Just know that if you do anything to hurt that girl, her daddy with a shotgun is gonna be the least of your worries. Understand?” Katya threatened.

“Yes, ma’am!” He squeaked. She snorted a laugh. She liked that she intimidated him enough to call her ma’am like she was some sort of school teacher instead of a high school sophomore. She let him go completely, and he scrambled away.

She knew that Ginger would be just fine.

The front church doors are open to keep the air circulating. It’s summer and the breeze feels heavenly against Katya’s overheated skin. Now she’s having second thoughts about this whole “groomsmen” thing. The suit traps every single wave of heat radiating off of her skin, effectively roasting her. She shrugs off the coat, grimacing at how the sweat stains have soaked through the dress shirt onto the gabardine. The ceremony hasn’t started so she doesn’t need to worry about it yet. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices some bridesmaids eyeing her sweaty dress shirt in disgust, but she doesn’t pay them any mind. They’re all paired off with their respective groomsmen, so Katya glances around the room to find her bridesmaid. She hasn’t met her yet— Ginger said that she was flying all the way from Milwaukee— so she doesn’t know what features to look for. Every bridesmaid is dressed in the same taffeta red dress with poofed sleeves and heart lines accentuating their breasts. They fix their hats so they don’t flop down in their faces and giggle as the groomsmen help them.

Violet is currently entertaining her groomsman, smiling politely at his jokes and letting out the occasional giggle, but every once in a while she’ll dart her eyes to Katya’s as if to ask her to save her. Katya shrugs her shoulders and awkwardly smiles. Violet rolls her eyes and turns back to the groomsman, a too-wide smile plastered on her face.

“Excuse me?” A finger taps Katya on the shoulder. The dark blonde whips her head around, her heart leaping out of her chest. She clutches at her shirt as a panicked breath leaves her. She stares wide-eyed at whoever scared the ever-loving shit out of her. She’s met with a sweet blonde who jumps at the sudden motion. She’s wearing the same bridesmaid dress as Violet and the rest of the girls. The first thing Katya notices is how her her breasts seem to spill out of the dress. She tries not to stare, but her idiot brain seems to gravitate towards them. They’re huge and fit to the shape of the dress so well, and what Katya would give to just stuff her face between them and stay there. Katya rips her eyes away and focuses on other aspects about the woman, her curled blonde hair, lighter than Katya’s, teased underneath the hat. Her makeup is about as heavy as her’s, if not heavier. She wonders what this woman does for a living. If she lives in the environment as Katya, there’s got to be all sorts of rumors about her and what she does. She wonders if they’re true or not. She notices how the woman is slightly taller than Katya. Whether it’s natural or through the added height of the heels, Katya isn’t sure. 

After a second, Katya realizes that she hasn’t said anything yet, so she coughs into her hand and says, “Yes, miss. How may I help you?”

“Oh, Ginger told me that I would be paired with the only lady groomsman here. I assume that’s you?” The woman asks. Her voice lacks the sweet twinge that Katya is used to, but she thinks her voice is charming nonetheless. It’s solid and loud, as though she’s not afraid to let herself be known. She smiles at Katya and her heart melts just a little bit. Her teeth are slightly crooked, but it somehow fits her.

“Yes, darling, that would be me. I’m Katya. And you are?” Katya turns on her southern charm, making sure that each vowel is drawn out. It’s barely there, but she notices a hitch of breath at the sound of the nickname. She’ll have to remember that. She holds her hand out for Trixie to shake. When Trixie places her hand in her’s, she kisses the back of her hand. Her skin is soft and delicate, untouched by the labors of hard work. Katya always loved a spoiled girl. The woman blushes and curtseys to Katya, her grin remaining constant.

“Beatrice, but please call me Trixie.”

“Trixie,” Katya says. She’s still holding her hand. “What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” Trixie says. She removes her hand from Katya’s to smooth down her dress. “So how do you know Ginger and Christopher?”

“I should be asking you that, Trixie. Ginger and I grew up together. We’ve practically known each other since birth. How do you know her? You’re all the way from Miluwakee, aren’t you?”

“Born and bred!” Trixie perks up, puffs out her chest in pride. Katya has to force herself to not look down for a single second. “Ginger and I are in the same theatre network. She came up to Milwaukee for a production. _Into the Woods_ , I believe.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Katya nods her head. Ginger had packed her stuff the moment she got the call; they were 22 at the time. Her and Christopher had been dating for several years at that point. The poor boy had been a wreck without her, constantly calling Katya for support. She was only gone for a few months, but it felt like years for the both of them. Their social scene was much more quiet without her biting remarks. The moment Ginger touched down back in Florida, Christopher picked her up at the airport, not wanting to spend a single second more away from her. 

“So Katya,” Trixie says, “may I ask why you’re in the suit sans the coat?”

“Ah,” Katya starts, “A groomsman flaked out on us last minute and Ging and Chris asked me to fill in. I’m not one for dresses anyways.”

“Well, I think you look quite handsome,” Trixie says as she snaps at Katya’s suspenders. “I’m glad I got you instead.”

_That’s it_ , Katya thinks, _I’m gonna marry this girl._

She looks back to Violet, who’s staring intently at Katya and Trixie, groomsman forgotten, flicking her eyes between the blondes as if she’s watching a soap opera. She gives Trixie a once-over, then gazes back at Katya and gives her a thumbs up, thoroughly impressed.

The sound of an organ sounds from inside the church. She can hear several gasps as the bridesmaids and groomsmen get into position, the bridesmaids clutching at their partners’ arms. Katya shrugs on her overcoat and offers her arm to Trixie, who giggles and takes it gingerly. From behind her, she can hear Ginger scrambling to get ready. 

“Daddy,” she calls to her father, who is smoking a cigarette outside, “it’s time!”

When he doesn’t turn around, she calls again, louder this time. “Daddy, it’s time! It’s time!” She beckons him with her hands.

“It’s time?” He says, surprised.

“Yes!” Ginger says, exasperated.

He immediately puts out his cigarette and jogs to join his daughter. He straightens his bowtie and loops his arm with Ginger’s, beaming with pride.

They’re in two perfect lines, the bridesmaids and Ginger on the right and the groomsmen and her dad on the left. The doors open and the spectators turn around to look at them. In this moment, Katya is grateful to be near the back. Trixie’s fingers tighten around Katya’s arm. She turns to look at her bridesmaid and she’s already facing Katya, her eyes alight with nervousness.

“Relax,” Katya says, bringing her other hand up to pat Trixie’s, “Be grateful you’re not the bride.”

“Thank the lord,” Trixie sighs and faces forward again, her grip still tight on Katya’s bicep. The church doors creak open and the the pews rustle as the guests turn to look at the pairs file out one by one. The moment they step through the doors, she can see the disapproving glares of several extended family members. She knows that everybody considers her the town sinner, the lesbian who takes housewives and turns them gay, but she prays that they won’t make a big fuss about it today. Katya keeps her head forward. She can only hope Trixie is doing the same. Eventually they make their way to the front of the church and separate, Trixie standing in the front with the women and Katya in the back with the men.

Ginger floats down the aisle, her dress long and dramatic in true Ginger fashion. She looks gorgeous, her hair swept up in an updo and held with a jewel crown. If Katya were a religious woman, she would think that she looks like an angel, the crown framing her face in a way that makes her seem holy. She glances at Christopher, who’s transfixed on Ginger slack jawed, a few stray tears escaping his eyes. He wipes them quickly and clasps his hands back together. When Ginger reaches the altar, she takes her fiancé’s hands in hers. They’re both crying now, and Katya is reassured once again that they’ll both be okay.

 

* * *

 

The reception is just as beautiful and expensive. It’s held in the space behind the church. Ribbons weave through poles set up on the ground and compliment the fairy lights twining the branches of the trees. Flowers burst from vases set on pedestals and tables, lilies and roses tangled perfectly together. The tablecloths are white pin tuck and hold white porcelain plates and silk red napkins. Red glass blown apples decorate each table, each one reflecting sunlight through its hollow body. The breeze blows softly, rustling the ribbons and trees.

Katya sits in one of the mahogany chairs, tilting it back so she’s resting on the back two legs, and smokes a cigarette. The suit jacket is hanging off the back of it, long since abandoned. She flicks some of the ash onto the tray that Ginger has graciously left at her table. The bride and the groom are currently dancing for the first time as a married couple. _Love’s First Kiss_ plays over the speakers while the rest of the guests sit in their seats and watch, enchanted. It’s quite sappy, really. Ginger rests her head on her husband’s shoulder as they sway back and forth to the music. He clutches her hand protectively, as if it’s its own vow. Ginger’s dress swirls, the tiny sewn-in flowers dancing around her. The song fades out and the guests all clap for them before taking to the dance floor themselves. Katya is content staring at them and listening to whatever the DJ plays. _Love Shack_ blasts through the speakers. It’s so overplayed, but the people still take to the dance floor. She sits through most it, watching 40-somethings try to keep up with the younger adults, but she turns her attention to Trixie elbowing her way out of the crowd and making her way towards Katya. Her hat is missing and her hair is a bit ruffled from dancing, but she seems happy nonetheless. Katya’s heart jumps a bit.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Trixie asks her once she’s standing fully in front of the other woman.

“I’m fine sitting here,” Katya says honestly. She takes another drag of her cigarette and blows it out of the corner of her mouth, away from Trixie.

“That’s boring,” Trixie says bluntly.

“I guess I’m a boring person, then,” she chuckles.

“No, I don’t think that. I bet you’re a really good dancer.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I don’t know. Just have a feeling.” Katya shrugs at that, having nothing to say in response. Trixie sighs. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. How about I sit through this next song with you, and then you’ll dance with me after?” She proposes, already pulling up a chair for herself.

“Hm…” Katya hums. She takes another drag and flicks more ash into the tray. “Alright, I’ll bite, Miss…”

“Mattel,” Trixie finishes.

“Miss Mattel,” she repeats.

The next song passes, and Katya doesn’t even remember what it is. She chats with Trixie over it, asks about her life in Milwaukee.

“I’m a beauty technician,” Trixie says, flipping one of her curls over her shoulder.

“Ah, that explains all the makeup,” Katya says. Trixie rolls her eyes and giggles. She laughs with her whole body, shoulders rising up and down with each giggle escaping her. Katya wants to lick at her dimples and her etched laugh lines. 

“You’re wearing just as much,” Trixie counters. Katya considers it, then nods her head in agreement. Trixie then asks, “So what about you? What do you do?” 

“I’m a museum curator,” Katya answers.

“Really? This doesn’t seem like a town with many museums,” Trixie looks around as if to prove her point.

“It’s not. I drive into the city five out of seven days of the week. It’s a modern art museum.”

“Oooh,” Trixie raises her eyebrows, “So you’re one of those abstract, philosophical ladies? Do you have any pieces on display?”

Katya laughs. “I mainly just overlook the museum’s collection, but I have a couple of personal pieces in my studio.”

“ _And_ she has her own studio,” Trixie says, seemingly impressed.

“Next time you’re in town, I’ll take you,” Katya says. She offers a cigarette to the other woman, but she declines and instead plucks the cigarette from between Katya’s lips and takes a drag. Once she fills her lungs with smoke, she places it back between the other woman’s lips and blows the smoke back into her face.

_God is testing me_ , Katya thinks. She can taste her cherry lip gloss on the cigarette and it’s driving her insane. She has half a mind to pull Trixie back into the church and make her see stars between the pews.

“Is this your way of flirting with me, darling?” Katya asks outright, smirking around her cigarette.

“Depends,” Trixie says, twirling a lock around her finger. “Is it working?”

The last song fades out and the next one starts playing before Katya can answer.

“Oh!” Trixie gasps, “This is Dolly Parton, you have to dance with me to this!” She grabs her groomsman’s hand and tugs her out of the chair, ignoring how it topples over on its back. She tugs Katya through the crowd until they’re smack in the middle. Trixie places her own hand on the other woman’s shoulder, then one of the Russian’s hands on the small of her waist, and clasps the other one with her own. They sway back and forth as Dolly sings _You’re the Only One_. Trixie rests her head on Katya’s shoulder, mirroring Ginger earlier. She mumbles the lyrics against Katya’s dress shirt, eyes closed. This close, Katya gets to really take in the bridesmaid’s features. Her face is caked in makeup, so most of her skin is still a mystery to Katya, but she can take in the slope of her nose and the deep swoop of her eyelashes. Her lips are pink and pouty, so kissable. Katya has to repress the urge to kiss the corners of her mouth. She tears her gaze away from her and instead rakes her gaze across the crowd encapsulating them. In the distance, Katya can see Violet dancing with another bridesmaid, a sleepy looking girl with platinum blonde hair and a lazy smile. Katya snorts a laugh. So much for getting married to Violet.

The song fades out and Katya moves to pull away from her dance partner, but the blonde squeezes her shoulder tighter, keeping her in place.

“One more song, please?” Trixie opens her eyes and pouts. Katya’s knees fall weak. God, she’s only known her for a day, but Katya can already tell that she would do anything Trixie asked of her. If she wanted the finest lotion from Paris, Katya is sure that she would hop on the next plane out of Florida to get it for her. So she complies, settling her hand back on Trixie’s waist and swaying to the next song. And the next. And the next. Trixie’s head doesn’t leave her shoulder the entire time, her nose nuzzled in Katya’s neck, hot breath blowing on her skin. Their clasped hands are now slick with sweat, but neither one of them mind.

Eventually, the song changes to something more high energy, and they finally have to break apart. Trixie reluctantly slides her hand off Katya’s shoulder and takes her hand back. “I knew you were a good dancer," Trixie confirms. She then shuffles on her feet and laughs sheepishly. "I suppose I should stop bothering you, shouldn’t I?”

“Or you could have a cigarette with me back at my table?” Katya offers.

The curvy blonde grins, a blush adorning her cheeks. Katya wants to pinch them. “Alright, lead the way,” she says.

Katya takes her hand, pushing through the crowd, and leads her back to the table. She props the chair back up on its four legs and sits down. Trixie pulls up the chair besides her. She positions it so that their knees barely brush against each other. For a moment, Katya wishes that she was wearing anything else but that bridesmaid dress. A little twinge of disappointment forms in her gut when she can’t feel the heat of her skin. Her fingers itch to run up her leg just to feel the softness of it. 

“So,” Katya starts, “how long are you staying here before you fly back to Milwaukee?”

“Only a few days,” Trixie replies. She’s picking at her dress near the knees and every once in a while, Katya can feel the brush of her fingertips against the fabric of her pants. 

“And you’re staying at Ginger’s?”

“No, a motel.”

“A motel?” Katya questions. “That doesn’t sound too comfy.”

“It’s not, really. But I make do.”

“Well I could offer you a spot at my place, darling.” She knows it’s forward of her, and she doesn’t want to know how Violet would react to having a stranger in the house without asking her, but she says it before she has time to think about the repercussions of her actions.

“You’d have to take me on a date first, _darling_ ,” Trixie mocks her accent, drawing out the ‘a’. She giggles, proud of herself. “I don’t just stay in strange women’s homes without getting to know them first.”

Katya is shocked at the forwardness of the other woman. Usually she’d have to pull teeth to convince women to go on dates with her, but Trixie just asks her outright, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll have to ask Violet if I can take the car, then. There are plenty of places in the city I could take you to,” Katya replies. She’s a grown woman, the thought of taking her out shouldn’t make her heart flutter, but it does. She bets thousands of women have taken Trixie on dates, throwing cash away on her expensive dinners, on jewelry and clothing, on movies that Trixie most likely won’t remember the next day. Katya is by no means poor, but she doesn’t have millions of dollars to spend on her the way she wants to. She probably couldn’t get her a pair of expensive earrings and a designer bag, but she could definitely take her out for a good meal and fuck her hard in the back of her car.

“Who’s Violet? Your girlfriend?” Trixie asks. Katya throws her head back and laughs.

“If Violet was my girlfriend, do you think I would agree to take you on a date?”

“I suppose not,” Trixie laughs along with her. She turns her head back to the dance floor at the sound of the next song playing. “I like this song, I’m gonna go dance. Do you wanna come with me?”

Katya waves her off. “I’ll watch you.”

“Promise?” Trixie asks like a child asking their friend to make a pinky promise. Katya nods. Content with her answer, Trixie gets up, plants a big kiss on Katya’s jaw, and walks to the dance floor, looking back at the dark blonde to make sure she’s still watching her. The dark blonde sits there with heat blooming in her lungs. When she touches the pad of her thumb to her cheek, she can feel the residual stickiness of Trixie’s lipstick. She can faintly smell cherries.

She turns her attention back to Trixie, who dances to some song that Katya has never heard before, probably some top 40 that slid under her radar. Trixie is not a great dancer, her arms flail everywhere and she trips more than once, but it’s so endearing watching her with a big smile on her face, so happy to be there. Her eyes dart over to Katya’s and she breaks out into the running man, laughing all the while. Katya wheezes a laugh as well, clutching the table as the blonde makes a fool of herself in front of theother guests. Katya could watch the girl for hours.

“Successfully wooed the bridesmaid, then?” A voice besides her says. Katya clutches her chest in shock, heart nearly leaping out of her ribs. She turns and sees Violet leaning an arm against the back of Katya’s chair, staring at Trixie with a smirk on her face.

“What is it with you people and scarin’ the life out of me?” Katya hisses.

Violet ignores the question. “She’s cute, too.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cute.”

“I saw you making eyes at each other, you dog. You’re lucky Ginger’s aunt Diane didn’t see you. She saw me and Pearl dancin’ together and she was madder than a wet hen. Gave us a lecture through most of Eddie Rabbitt.” Violet plops down in the chair next to her and takes a cigarette from the pack left on the table. She gestures for Katya to give her the lighter and puffs once its lit.

Katya spots Aunt Diane out of the corner of her eye, dancing promiscuously with a man who is definitely not her husband, a glass of wine loose in her grip. “I think she’s a bit too drunk to give us any sort of lecture at the moment.”

Violet follows Katya’s gaze and her face doesn’t budge, still looking as bored as ever. “Bless her heart,” she says, then takes another drag.

“So, why’d you come over here, Vi?” Katya asks.

“Can’t I spend some quality time with my roommate?” Violet replies, eyebrow raised, challenging her to answer. Katya gives her a pointed look and Violet drops the act immediately, slipping back into her bored expression. “Pearl had to leave early. Says she has to model for a runway in New York tomorrow. Plus, I’m invested in you and your lady friend over there.” Violet gestures to Trixie, who is currently doing the mashed potato with Christopher’s younger cousins.

“There you go, maybe she could land you a gig. And I’m not sure what’s happening with that girl. Apparently I’m taking her on a date sometime this week, so I may have to borrow the car.”

“Yeah, if I ever see her again. And yes, you may take the car. Consider me one of God’s angels of love,” Violet says.

“Is it possible to canonize somebody while they’re still alive? Mother Theresa doesn’t hold a candle to you,” Katya says.

“So where’re you thinking of taking her?”

“I’m thinking Webber’s. What do you think?”

“Ugh.” Violet wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Do you want to dodge drunk people puking on your shoes all night? Take her somewhere nicer.”

“Gigi’s, then?”

“Can you even afford that? Dear god, just take her bowling or something.”

“Oh, that’s not a bad idea,” Katya says. She wonders how good Trixie is at bowling. Katya hasn’t bowled in years, but it’s one of those things she’s intuitively good at, like dancing or singing. She’s won every match she’s ever played with her friends, to the point where they all joke that she should join a professional bowling league, museum-curating be damned. Even if Trixie is horrible at bowling, Katya thinks she would let her win. She imagines Trixie’s shoes squeaking against the polished floors as she bowls her ball down the lane, getting a strike and squealing in delight, throwing her arms around Katya’s neck and giving her a big, fat kiss. When they get bored of bowling, they can spend their spare change on the arcade machines tucked in the corner of the alley. When they run out of money, Katya would take a couple of dollars to the counter in exchange for a new stack of quarters. It’s a nice thought, not too formal but still expensive enough that the other woman knows that she’s willing to spend money on her.

“You should listen to me more often. I have plenty of great ideas,” Violet teases.

“Shut it,” Katya says. Just as she speaks, Trixie comes bounding over to the two of them, wild and out of breath, grinning wide and happy.

“Did you see me, Katya?” Trixie asks. The blonde flicks her eyes to Violet for half a second, then back to Katya expectantly.

“I gotta go. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Ginger yet,” Violet says as she stubs out her cigarette and rises to her feet. She kisses Katya’s cheek, then glances at Trixie to see if she’s gotten a rise out of her. Trixie is smiling a bit too wide, but she doesn’t say anything and instead occupies the seat she had been sitting in moments before. Violet gives Katya a tiny shrug before striding over to the bride, who’s taking a break from dancing and sipping a glass of wine.

“Yeah, I saw you,” Katya answers Trixie. “You looked mighty cute out there.”

Trixie perks up immediately at that. She looks content in Katya’s answer, a self-satisfied smile stretching her lips. She smooths down her dress and plays with a stray hair that isn’t there. “So have you decided where you’re gonna take me out?” She asks playfully.

“How do you feel about bowling?” Katya mentally crosses her fingers, hopes that Trixie doesn’t demand that she take her out to a five-star restaurant.

“Bowling sounds perfect to me,” Trixie replies. Katya breathes a sigh of relief. Trixie sees that and gives her a quizzical look. “What?” She says, the intonation of her voice rising then lowering on the ‘-at’. “Do you think I’m some sort of spoiled brat or something?”

“Just a little bit.” Katya blurts out, then slaps a hand over her mouth. Sometimes she really despises how her mouth runs faster than her brain. Her bluntness has gotten her in trouble more than once. Trixie stares at her for a second— Katya braces herself to get chewed out— but then screams a laugh and makes Katya jump a good foot in the air.

“Rude!” She says between laughs.

“Sorry, darling, couldn’t resist,” Katya says. She reaches over and rubs the back of Trixie’s hand, squeezes it, then leans back. Trixie chases her, captures her pinky with her own.

“I like bowling,” she says.

“Yeah?” Katya replies.

 “Mhm, it reminds me of my friends back in Chicago. I’d take the bus down for the weekend and we’d go bowling the night I got there,” Trixie reflects. Her voice is laced with nostalgia.

“You still see your friends often?” Katya questions.

“Yeah, I still see them sometimes. Though Kim just got a job at a big-time fashion company and Shea just moved in with her girlfriend. I don’t see them as often as I’d like,” she sighs.

The dark blonde holds Trixie’s hand properly and rubs her thumb over her knuckles comfortingly. “Well,” Katya starts, “I’ll make sure you don’t get lonely while you’re staying here.”

“That’s nice of you.”

After a beat of silence, Katya lets go of Trixie’s hand and pulls back her sleeve to check her watch. She stands and scoops up her coat. “I think I’m gonna find Violet and get going soon. How did you get here?” Katya offers her hand. Trixie takes it and Katya pulls her up.

“I took a taxi,” Trixie replies, then brushes imaginary crumbs off her dress.

“How about I take you back to the motel, then? Save you a bit of money.”

“If it’s not any trouble, I’d appreciate it.”

“Not any trouble if it’s for you,”

“That mouth of you is gonna get you in trouble, miss.”

“The pot says to the kettle,” Katya grins.

“Good thing I like it, or else I’d slap you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to do it. Are you ready to go?”

“And I probably won’t be the last either. Let me just grab my purse, I left it back at my table.”

“Well, hurry it up, then.” Katya playfully swats at the backs of Trixie’s thighs. She squeals and looks back at Katya. Her blue eyes are alight with mirth and her dimples are sweet and rosy. She half-jogs back to the table to grab her clutch. In the meantime, Katya tries to spot Violet in the herd of drunk dancers. She’s still off to the side with Ginger, amicably chatting with her. Katya strides over and taps them both on their shoulders. They turn to her.

“Violet, I’m thinking of heading out soon,” she says, “And I’m driving Trixie back to her motel.”

“Aw, how gentlemanly of you. A true groomsman,” Violet pokes Katya in the ribs. She scrunches her nose and swats Violet’s hand away.

“I saw you two dancing earlier. Do you have anyone you’d like to thank for assigning you two together?” Ginger chimes in.

“When did you start becoming invested in my love life?” Katya snorts.

“Since you’ve been moping around all lonely-like.”

Katya tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows in confusion. She certainly hasn’t noticed herself moping around at all. And even if she were, she would think Violet would tell her, or at least try to snap her out of it. “What’re you going on about, Ging? Since when have I been moping?”

“Since your last rendezvous with Ms. Monsoon’s sister. What was her name?”

“Jinkx.”

“That’s the one! Ever since Jinkx left for Seattle, you’ve been moping around like you’re running low on battery power. It’s been a solid two years since you’ve had a good sapphic woman to talk to.”

“Oh, then what am I? Chopped liver?” Violet crosses her arms defensively.

“Oh no, girl. You’re worse,” Ginger teases. Violet just huffs and throws Ginger a dirty look.

“That’s not true. I’ve had women since Jinkx,” Katya says.

“Yeah, but how many of them were housewives that cursed you out the moment they realized that you ‘turned them gay’?” Ginger uses air quotations to accentuate her point. “The point is, I’ve seen how being in this environment has made you. It’s been wearing you down, slowly but surely. I figured that a breath of fresh air would do quite nicely for you. I can tell she’s working wonders on you. Your cheeks are rosier already, girl.” Ginger reaches out to pinch her cheeks with her index and thumb and instead of swatting her away, Katya let’s her have it. She gives a close-lipped smile as Ginger makes her move her head from side to side, her cheek hurting from the pinch. After a minute, Ginger finally releases Katya’s cheek and gives it one more pat. “Oh and by the way, you still have a giant lipstick stain on your cheek. And with that shade of pink, I can only imagine it coming from one person.”

Katya blushes and rubs at her cheek furiously with her sleeve, ruining the white of her shirt and only succeeding to smudge the lipstick across her cheek. All of a sudden, Trixie comes bounding up with her purse and hat in hand. She deflates slightly when she sees the dark blonde try to rub off the lipstick. Katya feels like she just kicked a puppy.

“Oh, why’re you rubbing that off? I liked it,” Trixie whines.

Katya flicks her eyes to Ginger, who looks like she’s about to lose it. She hides her snickers in her wine glass as she takes another sip. “Just making sure Aunt Diane doesn’t see it,” Katya saves herself. “We wouldn’t want to get a lecture from her, trust me. The car’s in the front row if you have everything. Violet, you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Violet’s also trying to choke back laughter. Katya makes a note to slap the both of them upside the head later. They all say goodbye to Ginger, and give her kisses, then say their goodbyes to some of the other guests before making their way to the church parking lot. Katya leads Trixie to the car by placing a hand at the small of her waist, fingers curly slightly over the hips. If Katya were looking at her face, she would see a slight blush tinge the blonde’s cheeks.

“Okay, you get the back, Violet!” Katya calls as she twirls the keys on her index finger.

“I don’t deserve half of the abuse I get,” Violet grumbles, but crawls into the backseat without much of a fight.

Katya opens the side door for Trixie and bunches up the fabric as she steps into the passenger side. Once she’s seated, Katya takes the fabric and places it in her lap. She then goes to the driver’s side and revs the car a few times before it starts.

“Bucket a’ junk,” Katya says, then slaps the dashboard of the car. It roars to life, then Katya backs out of her space and into the street. “So I assume you’re staying at the Yellow Flower Motel?”

“That’s the one.” Trixie nods.

“Lord, if I had known you were staying there, I would have offered to house you sooner,” Katya says.

“What’s this about housing people?” Violet pipes up from the back. Katya stiffens. Oh, she forgot to ask Violet about letting Trixie stay for the week. Shit. She can see through the rear-view mirror that she’s is staring daggers at her. She’s definitely gonna get an earful later.

“Don’t worry, Violet. I’m not staying at your place until Katya takes me on a date first,” Trixie turns to face her and grins.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Bowling alley,” Violet nods her head, still leering at Katya.

“Speaking of, Trixie, what would be a good time for me to pick you up?” Katya changes the subject.

“Hm,” Trixie says as she brings a finger to her lips. She fortunately doesn’t seem to notice the sudden tense atmosphere in the car, and if she does, she’s unfazed by it. “How about tomorrow? 7 o’clock?”

“Sounds good to me.” Katya pulls into the parking lot of the motel. It’s dingy and broke-down and run by Mr. York. He’s white trash in every sense: gun-toting, whiskey-drinking, beard-scratching trash. It’s a miracle how he’s kept his late mama’s motel running for so long. Katya pulls into the front row and hops out to open the passenger’s side for Trixie. She steps out, almost tripping over her dress. Katya reaches out to help her, but she puts a hand up to signify that she’s okay.

“Do you mind walking me to my room, Katya? I don’t trust myself to walk up the stairs without falling and splitting my head open,” Trixie jokes.

“Of course.” Katya offers her arm to Trixie and she takes it, her slender fingers tight against Katya’s forearm. Katya slams the passenger door shut and calls back to Violet, “Make sure nobody steals the car! I’ll be back in a second.” When she looks back, she sees Violet sprawled across the backseats, giving her a lazy thumbs up.

Katya leads Trixie up the stairs, going slowly and holding parts of her dress. When they get up the stairs, Trixie leads her to her motel room door. “Well, this is where I leave you,” Katya says, then starts to pull her arm away. However, Trixie tugs her back, grabs her by the cheeks, and kisses her.

Katya’s brain immediately blanks from thinking about anything besides kissing the woman in front of her. Her lips are soft and warm, still sticky from her lip gloss, but Katya’s are too. She has to lean up to kiss her, not quite on her tip toes, but almost. She splays her fingers on Trixie’s shoulders, then rubbing down her forearms and back up again, obsessed with the feeling of her impossibly soft skin underneath her coarse fingertips. Trixie rubs her thumbs across Katya’s cheekbones, tracing them. Trixie separates for half a second to breath, but Katya chases them, hungry for the taste of cherry lip gloss. They stay like that for a while before they finally separate, panting.

“What a forward woman,” Katya says, smiling and out of breath, staring at Trixie like the entire solar system has been caught in her eyes. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that since this morning. Ginger told me about you the night I landed and honestly seeing you in person was so much better than I imagined,” Trixie admits, her crooked smile stretching across her cheeks. Katya’s own red lipstick is smudged across her lips and she can’t help but swipe her finger across Trixie’s bottom lip to smudge it in a bit more. Trixie giggles and recoils a bit. “Oh, ew, do I have red lipstick on me? I hate when that shit happens.”

Katya likes the way the profanity falls from her lips. It’s doesn’t fit her, with her bouncing curls and sweet, squishy body. She looks like she should be accompanying her mama to church and teaching Sunday school instead of kissing a dyke in front of a seedy motel. But Katya likes it anyways, just like she seems to like everything else about her so far.

“I think it looks charming on you,” Katya says, giving Trixie another peck. Trixie hums against her lips.

She pulls away from Katya, taking her hands off her face. “As much as I’d like to keep kissing you, I have a date to prepare for tomorrow. A girl needs her beauty rest.”

A slight twinge of disappointment forms in Katya’s gut, then immediately dissipates at the mention of the date. It’s replaced with a smattering of butterflies flying frantically in her lungs.

She takes Trixie’s hand and kisses it, smiles inwardly at the red lipstick stain left behind. “I’ll see you at 7 o’clock sharp tomorrow, Trixie.” The blonde traces over the red stain and smiles faintly before tilting Katya’s head to the side and planting a kiss on her cheek, over the one that Katya had attempted to rub off earlier.

“Don’t try and rub that off before you get home,” Trixie teases, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Katya.” She then opens her motel door, taking one last look at Katya before closing it behind her. Katya stands there for a long time, just taking in all that had happened before descending back the stairs of the motel.

When she opens the driver’s side of her car, she sees Violet in the passenger’s side. She smirks at the sight of Trixie’s fresh lipstick stain on Katya’s cheek and says, "So I guess we should call our wedding off?"

Katya smiles, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya and Trixie go on a date after the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much to everyone that commented and gave kudos!! The positive reception was so much more than I thought it was going to be! 
> 
> Here is the second chapter, where Katya and Trixie go on their date. Again, this is heavily unedited, so I apologize for any mistakes! I'm posting this at 3 am because my day-self would overanalyze every sentence and this would never get posted :V
> 
> Enjoy!

Katya wakes up the next morning not quite believing that yesterday actually happened. She gets up, checks her calendar to make sure that it’s actually Sunday, that the whole thing wasn’t a dream. 

The first thing she remembers is how Trixie kissed her. When she looked in the mirror when she got home, her lipstick was smudged around her lips and Trixie’s distinct lipstick was prominent against her cheek. She stood there for a while, thinking back on how Trixie’s lips moved against hers, how they were soft and plump on Katya’s chapped own, how they broke into a smile as Katya told her goodnight. It took a while before she worked up the nerve to wash it off. She contemplated asking Violet to take a picture of it, but she decided she couldn’t handle the amount of teasing that would ensue. She squared up, took a washcloth, and rubbed off her makeup until her skin was red and blotchy. 

Katya touches her face now, her chest swelling with the memory. She checks the time on her alarm clock, which reads 9:36. That was late for her. She’s usually up at the crack of dawn making Violet breakfast, but she guesses that the wedding tired her out. She’s lucky that Violet has off work this weekend, or she’d be dealing with a grumpy dancer all day. When she pads to the bathroom, she peeks into her roommate’s room, where she finds her curled up under the covers, the bridesmaid dress crumpled carelessly in the corner of the room, the blinds drawn so only slivers of sunlight peek through the blinds. She’s not even sure Violet bothered to take off her makeup. Katya has half a mind to scare Violet awake. She thinks of yelling in her ear or grabbing pots and pans from the kitchen, but she ultimately decides against it. Instead she walks into the bathroom and brushes her teeth, making funny faces in the mirror to amuse herself. 

When she’s done, she goes downstairs and makes herself a bowl of cereal, not able to muster up the energy to cook anything. When she’s done she throws the bowl in the sink and does yoga in front of the tv. She flips the channels until settling on the news, which is really only background noise for her. As she stretches, she half-listens to a story about some politician’s sex scandal. The drone of the reporter’s voice comforts Katya. It’s something she can focus on without listening to the meaning of the words.

After a while, Violet pads downstairs, yawning. From the complicated pose she’s in, Katya peers over at her. She was right: the black-haired woman’s makeup is smeared across her face unflatteringly. Katya has to suppress a laugh as a result. Violet glares at her anyways and flips on the coffee machine, leaning against the counter as she waits for it. The phone suddenly rings and Katya calls, “Can you get that, Violet dearest? I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” Katya laughs at her own joke.

Violet rolls her eyes at her, but still suppresses a small laugh. Puns were always her weak spot.She walks over to the wall phone and picks up the receiver. “Hello?” She asks tiredly, rubbing at her temples. As the person on the other line speaks, Violet perks up. Katya is curious now, untangling herself from a knot and jogging over to Violet. She holds her ear next to the phone, trying to catch any part of what the other caller is saying. Her roommate turns away from her and says, “Hi, Pearl! How did you get this number?”

Katya is gaping in giddy surprise, hitting Violet’s arm repeatedly. Violet is smiling wide now, holding Katya’s other hand and shaking them back and forth as she talks to the model. “You got it from Ginger? Oh, that’s nice of her,” Violet says. “Do I have time to talk? Yes, of course I do!” She shoos Katya, who giggles as the black-haired woman curls her finger in the phone line. Katya retreats back to her room, a smirk still present on her face. She can hear Violet talking animatedly, but can’t make out anything she’s saying.

She feels excited for her anyways.

 

* * *

 

That excitement quickly fades to slight annoyance, then sheer irritation.

Violet has talked to Pearl on the phone for nearly three hours and in the meantime, Katya has been trying to amuse herself in her room. 

She tried to go downstairs around hour one and a half, but Violet shooed her back up the stairs, hand over the transmitter, scream-whispering, “We’re talking about personal stuff! You can wait until we’re done!”

She tries to sketch the curtains, but they don’t billow the way they did yesterday. Today they’re stagnant and boring; she’s already drawn stagnant and boring. She tries to read the book that’s been collecting dust for months on her bedside table, but she doesn’t remember what she’s read so far, so she feels lost at the mention of each character. She puts it down, hangs upside down off her bed, enjoys how her hair isn’t long enough to brush the floor. She flips herself back over, chucks some dirty socks into the laundry basket, contemplates if she wants to do laundry today, decides against it, walks around aimlessly for half a minute, re-arranges the cologne bottles on her desk, checks the time: it’s 1:21. Less than six hours until she picks up Trixie. She wonders if she has enough time to get ready, reminds herself that she has all damn day, then whips open the closet door. She thumbs over the groomsman suit, back in its wrapping. She hopes she doesn’t have to give it back. She lays out nearly everything she owns on her bed, then just decides on a clean jean jacket with matching jeans and her new pair of Eastlands. That still left her with five hours and fifteen minutes. Her stomach rumbles, and she makes the executive decision that she doesn’t care if Violet is still talking to her new girlfriend, she’s making lunch.

She peeks down the stairs, straining to hear if Violet is still talking to the model. She is. They’re talking about high fashion and aesthetic and other stuff that Katya doesn’t understand. Katya creeps down the stairs, careful to not make any noise as she goes down. She turns right into the kitchenette, where Violet is sitting on one of the counters, phone cord still wound around her finger. Katya waves to her and Violet gives her a half-hearted wave back, not really paying attention to her. A devilish grin appears on Katya’s face. She heads to the fridge, still careful to be quiet, and pulls out a pack of bologna.

She knows that one of Violet’s least favorite things in this known-universe is the smell of fried bologna. Whenever Katya has it in a pan, Violet always has to make a big scene out of it, dry retching and opening windows included. So Katya waves to get Violet’s attention and points at the packet, then at the stove. Her eyes widen.

“Hey Pearlie, can you hold on a minute?” The burlesque dancer asks, then covers the bottom part of the phone with her hand and whispers threateningly, “I swear to the lord above, if you fry any bologna in this household, I will kick you to last Sunday and back. Do you hear me? Sunday and back!”

“Three. hours.” Katya retorts as she pulls out a pan. She gives one last look to Violet before turning on the stove and throwing the bologna on.

Violet gags immediately. She nearly hits her with the phone, then remembers that Pearl is still on the other end. Katya can see her stuck between two choices: talk to the girl of her dreams and endure the smell of fried bologna, or hang up and have a cigarette out in the clean, fresh air.

Violet squints her eyes at her, then sighs in defeat. She holds the receiver up to her ear and says, “I’m back. Katya wants me off the phone, so I need to go.”

Katya rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as Violet throws her under the bus. Violet says her goodbyes to Pearl and hangs up the phone. She gives Katya one last dirty look bolting out of the room, throwing open the front screen door and gulping a huge breath outside. 

_Young people nowadays are so dramatic,_ Katya thinks as she turns over the bologna.

 

* * *

 

Katya parks in the front row of the motel. She sees Mr. York sitting in a plastic chair chewing on tobacco and spitting it in a red solo cup. She nods and waves to him in greeting, but he doesn’t extend the same courtesy to her, his beady eyes instead following her as she walks up the stairs to Trixie’s room. _He would be the perfect match for a movie about killer hillbillies_ , she thinks. 

When she gets to the second floor, she immediately panics. She completely forgets which room number is Trixie’s. 

Going up to every door and knocking is out of the question. There are two reasons why people come through the motel: weddings and affairs. Katya doesn’t know if she’d rather be beaten by Ginger’s extended family members or by rich city lawyers and their mistresses.

She supposes she could yell Trixie’s name until she peeks out of her motel room confused, but she’d rather not scare the living daylights out of her. Or have Mr. York fire a couple of warning shots to get her to shut up.

She could also just give up and go home. That one is starting to appeal to her. Cut off all communication with Trixie so she never has the opportunity to embarrass herself in front of her, and just crawl underneath her covers for the rest of the week. But then Ginger would probably be at her doorstep hollering at her the moment Trixie calls her up crying and asks her why Katya is being so mean. The thought of Trixie crying breaks her heart and she rules that thought out as quickly as it came.

As she’s debating her options, one of the door handles jiggles and the door creaks open to reveal Trixie. Her hair is as perfectly curled as always, sitting heavily on her shoulders. Her jeans reveal gorgeous curvy hips that Katya hadn’t had a chance to see at the wedding underneath all of the ruffles and frills. She’s wearing a pink sweater with a matching belt today. She seems so much sweeter, lighter, than she does in red. Pink is definitely her color.

“You look like a Barbie doll,” Katya says.

Trixie brightens. “I loved Barbies as a kid. Had a whole collection of them.”

“I can tell,” Katya laughs, then strides over and gives her a hug. “Are you ready to go bowling?”

Trixie nods her head, then excitedly follows Katya to her car. Both of them ignore the glares that Mr. York throws them as they drive off.

 

* * *

The sign hung on the door reads ‘closed’. Katya tugs on the doors of the bowling alley just to make sure. Yup, definitely closed. The sign swings back and forth as if to mock her.

“Not open?” Trixie asks behind her.

“I forgot everything in this godforsaken state is closed on Sundays,” Katya sighs, then kicks the door. It rattles slightly.

“It’s okay, there’s a McDonald’s right across the street,” Trixie says.

“I’m not taking you to McDonald’s,” Katya says, rubbing at her temples, “You deserve a better date than that.”

They stand in front of the closed bowling alley awkwardly, trying to think of where else they could go. Cars cut through the night as they pass by the two women. The red neon lights cast a glow on them, the ‘O’ in ‘BOWLING’ flickering every once in a while. Cigarette butts litter the pavement below them and a plastic bottle is stuck in the potted plant decorating the outside of the building. The McDonald’s across the street taunts Katya along with the closed sign, telling her that she’s gonna take the woman of her dreams to a fast food joint, sit awkwardly in plastic booths and avoid each other’s eyes as they nibble on over-salted fries.

“Oh!” Trixie exclaims, then grabs at Katya’s arm. “How about you take me to that studio of yours?”

Katya had completely forgotten she told Trixie about her studio. She imagines what it looks like right now, newspaper scattered across the space, doll parts in separate boxes, canvases with Russian phrases slapped across them, experimental photographs of herself and her friends when they were in their 20s, crusty paint tubes littered around the too-full trash can. She was sure if Trixie saw it, she would turn heel and catch the next plane to Milwaukee. “Um,” Katya says hesitantly. She’s wracking her brain for something, anything else to do. Trixie is looking at her expectantly, eyes alight with curiosity. When Katya can’t think of anything other ideas, her will to fight her crumbles. “Alright, it’s a bit messy, but if you want to go, I’ll take you.”

Trixie perks up at Katya’s affirmation. “Alright, let’s do that, then! I’m excited to see what kind of stuff is going through your head.”

_That’s exactly what I’m afraid of_ , Katya thinks, but smiles nervously and nods at her. They walk back towards the car, a slight spring in Trixie’s step. Katya jams her fingers in her pockets of her jeans and watches as her date opens the car door and plops herself in the passenger side, her curls bouncing as she sits down. Katya gets into the car herself, checks the center console, roots around empty gum wrappers, spare change, and old receipts for the key to her studio. She then remembers that she left it on the dresser of her room and clicks her tongue in annoyance. “We might have to stop by my house, darling. I left the key in my room.”

“That’s just fine,” Trixie says.

As they pull out of the parking lot, Katya subtly flips off the McDonald’s when she’s sure Trixie isn’t looking. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees street lights pass over Trixie’s face as she takes in the blurring scenery outside. It starts to rain and it speckles the lights passing over the woman’s face. Her heart swells as she turns on the windshield wipers. With the comfortable silence, only interrupted by the patter of rain, and the lights passing through the car, it’s perfect bliss. Katya takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches out to grasp Trixie’s in her lap, her thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Katya can feel Trixie squeeze back and rest both of their hands on the center console.

“Your hands are so pretty,” Trixie notes, “Your fingers are long and veiny and rough, but your fingernails are a pretty shade of red.” She takes Katya’s hand and spreads it, tracing over the veins and callouses and nicks on her skin. From the corner of her eye, she sees Trixie observe it almost curiously, as if she’s never seen anything like it before. A smirk curls on Katya’s face. She kind of wants to laugh, kind of wants to burst into tears, kind of wants to pull over and kiss Trixie until neither one of them can breathe. She settles on letting a small chuckle slip and clenching and unclenching her hand for Trixie.

“You’ll have to thank Violet for the nail polish,” she says, “I can’t paint nails for the life of me.”

“Aren’t you an artist?” Trixie laughs.

“Painting on a flat canvas is very different from painting on tiny, curved nails. It’s much harder,” Katya defends.

“You’ll have to let me teach you how to paint nails sometime, then,” Trixie says, lacing their fingers back together.

“They teach you beauty school girls some sort of witchcraft, I’m sure of it. You can get better at painting on canvases just by practicing, but no matter how much I practice painting nails, I can never get it right.”

Trixie hums, considering her answer. “Witchcraft is part of it,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.

“I knew it,” Katya laughs along with her.

They pull into the driveway of Katya’s house. The light is still on in the living room, meaning Violet is still home. “Stay right where you are, I’ll be right back,” Katya says as she unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out of the car, shielding herself from the raining, dashing towards the front entrance, and throwing open the screen door.

Violet looks up from the book she’s reading on one of the armchairs. Katya gives her a half-hearted wave as she dashes up the stairs. “Forget your strap-on?” the black-haired woman calls after her.

“Shut up!” Katya retorts. She throws open the door to her bedroom and snatches the golden key off her dresser, sticking it in her pocket before stomping back the stairs. 

She opens the front door and Violet says, “Have fun with your girl! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Katya doesn’t respond and slams the door closed. She jogs back to the car and plops herself back in the driver’s seat. She takes a moment to catch her breath, taking the key out of her pocket to show Trixie. “It’ll be a half an hour trip into the city. You still okay with going to the studio?”

Trixie nods happily, her crooked smile showing past her lips. “Yeah, I’m still good.”

Katya jams the key back in her pocket starts the car, then fiddles with the radio. When she can’t find anything immediately, she gives up on it, instead backing out and into the street. “You can put on whatever you want,” she says.

Trixie plays with the radio for a little bit and settles on some song that Katya doesn’t recognize. It’s soft and airy, the singer’s voice floating through the air like dandelion seeds. Trixie hums along, tapping her fingers on the dashboard. The rain still patters on the windshield, making theimages in the side windows fuzzy and vague. In this car with this woman while the radio buzzes faintly, Katya feels like she’s encapsulated in a bubble. But it’s not restraining, it’s rather cozy and warm, safe from the rest of the world. Eventually, desolate roads and country homes turn into neon city lights and bustling people, but Katya feels like nobody can enter their bubble; it’s a space for only Trixie and her.

She has considered moving to the city more than once. The space would be much smaller, but work would be so much closer, and nobody would cast judgmental glances her way because nobody would know her. Except for Violet, if she wanted to move with her. As she glances over at Trixie, she wonders what she prefers.

She turns into a parking garage. She parks in her usual space and grabs her parking pass, hangs it on the rear view mirror. She waits, breathes, knows that if she turns the car off and gets out, the bubble will be popped. Trixie unknowingly unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car, waiting patiently for Katya to follow. For a second, a flare of irritation rises up in Katya, but she squashes it down immediately. Of course, how is Trixie to know? Her silly imagination is getting the best of her and making her believe that some sort of spell has actually been broken. But in the deep recesses of her mind, she’s still a bit sad that the moment is over.

Katya follows Trixie out of the car, slams the door closed and listens as the sound reverberates through the garage. “So, where is your studio?” Trixie asks, her voice following the car doors, bouncing off the walls and fading in the background.

“Right next door. We’ll have to walk in the rain for a second, I hope you don’t mind,” Katya says. Usually she’s unapologetic with everything that she does, so sure and steadfast, but with Trixie she feels hesitant. She wants to apologize for the passage of time and the weather and other things completely out of her control, cursing how they dare inconvenience the woman standing in front of her. She knows it’s ridiculous, but her inner saboteurs knock on the walls of her brain and tell her that one wrong move will make Trixie run as far away from her as she can, back to Wisconsin, never talking to her ever again. 

“I don’t mind at all,” Trixie says nonchalantly, oblivious to the fact that those words wash a wave of relief over Katya.

They walk in sync outside the garage. It’s raining a bit harder, so Katya takes off her jean jacket and attempts to cover both their heads with it. Trixie has to bend down a little bit to fit under, but she’s completely covered while half of Katya sticks out, susceptible to the rain fall. This close, Katya can feel Trixie’s puffs of breath against the side of her face. She can smell her perfume, floral and sweet, fresh like daisies, and the feeling of her sweater rubbing against her skin. They make a mad dash to the apartment buildings, Trixie’s kitten heels clacking on the pavement as they run. They both scream as they run, Trixie’s hair frizzing up and Katya’s shoulder getting soaked. They make it up the front stairs and under the small canopy that shields them from the rain. Katya rattles the doorknobs, shoulders it to try and force the door open. It’s has always been a pain in her ass to open, and there’s no exception now. She jams it open, her shoulder bruising in the process. She ushers Trixie inside, out of the rain. They’re both panting and leaning against the walls of the hallway, staring at one of another and breaking out into laughter. They look ridiculous. Trixie’s curls are frizzed out of control and half of Katya’s clothing is soaked through. Trixie combs her fingers through her hair, trying to tame them but utterly failing. 

When their laughter finally subsides, Katya looks her over. The Trixie she knows has looked so pristine, every curl and lash in place, and it’s such a far cry from the Trixie in front of her right now. The bottoms of her jeans are soaked, her hair is flopping down in her face. She somehow has never looked more attractive to Katya than she does right now. The other woman catches her staring at her a little bit longer than normal. She gives her a quizzical look. “I’m sorry,” Katya apologizes, “I just really want to kiss you right now.”

“Then do it,” Trixie breathes.

It doesn’t take any more more convincing. Katya strides to the other wall and kisses her, caging her with her arms and pressing her against the peeling wallpaper. Both of their eyelids flutter closed. Trixie sighs against her lips, sliding down the wall a bit so Katya can reach her better. She wraps her arms around the shorter woman’s neck, tugging her closer, playing with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. Her lips don’t taste like cherries this time, but they taste infinitely more human, more _Trixie_. Katya threads her fingers through her hair, feeling the little tangles and pulling through them. When they finally separate, Trixie is the one to chase her. Her eyes open and cross a bit trying to follow Katya’s lips, closing the gap between them once again. Katya groans low in response, moving her hands down to clutch at Trixie hips. Her jeans fills them out so nicely, Katya can’t help but pinch them. Trixie wiggles and laughs into her mouth, lifting her leg up so Katya can slide a hand under her thigh. She could probably kiss Trixie for hours, content to just run her hands over her body and cherish the woman pressing into her.

They stay like that for a while before they hear a cough behind them. Their faces separate, still clutching at each other, to face the source of the noise. A skinny, gray-haired woman stands behind them awkwardly, her eyes not meeting either of theirs. “Oh. Hi, Max,” Katya says. Max is her co-worker, who actually uses the space next to Katya’s as an apartment. They don’t talk often, but they get along with each other just fine. But right now, she wishes that Max was literally anywhere else but where she is right now, and she’s thinking Max is probably wishing the same thing.

“Hello, Katya, Trixie,” Max nods at both of them, keeping her eyes downcast.

Katya orients herself and Trixie so that her co-worker can pass. Max sidles past them and out the door, obviously not wanting to interrupt them any further. Katya whips her head back to Trixie in confusion, wondering how her co-worker knows her date. Trixie has burrowed her face in Katya’s neck in embarrassment. Katya can feel the heat radiating from Trixie’s skin. “We went to college together,” Trixie mumbles against her skin, “We were in the same theatre program.”

Katya wheezes, wrapping her arms around Trixie’s back and laughing hysterically. Trixie slaps her shoulder repeatedly and screams, “Stop laughing at that! It’s so embarrassing!”

But Katya laughs even harder, squeezing Trixie tight against her chest. “I’m so sorry, darling,” Katya says between breathes, “but that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“You’re so mean!” Trixie exclaims. Katya’s laughter eventually fades, and she’s left holding Trixie in her arms, her face still buried in Katya’s neck. When the other woman raises her head again, Katya can take in the effect she’s had on her. Her hair is a little more mussed, her lipstick is smeared with red again, and her face is hot from blushing. Katya runs her thumb over her lips like she did the first time, admiring how the red clashes with the pink. Trixie raises a hand to cover her mouth immediately and says, “Dammit, your red lipstick got on me again, didn’t it?”

“I like it,” Katya answers, lowering Trixie’s hand from her face and leans in to give her another kiss. 

“We should probably go up to your studio,” Trixie mumbles against her lips, “I don’t want to run into anymore old classmates like this.” 

Katya hums noncommittally, instead looping her hands around Trixie’s waist. Trixie melts into her for a moment, her eyes starting to close, before remembering herself and pushing against Katya’s chest. She smirks and says, “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? Well it’s not gonna work! I wanna see your stuff!” Trixie wiggles herself out of Katya’s arms and jogs up the narrow staircase, the steps creaking with every step she takes. Katya has no choice but to follow her, laughing quietly to herself. They meet at the top of the stairs, where Katya leads her date to the last door at the end of the hallway. She fishes for the key in her pocket, then messes with the doorknob. She jostles it a few times before it swings wide open. Katya palms at the wall to find the light and switches it on. The lights take a second and a half to flicker on. 

It’s not as bad as Katya remembers, but it’s still an absolute mess. For a moment, Katya freezes in fear that Trixie might just walk back to the motel, but she takes a step inside, marveling at everything.

“This is literally insane,” Trixie says as she picks up a canvas leaning against the wall. Painted on it is eyes growing out of the palms of a smiling woman, her nails a couple of inches long and sharp like talons. Trixie doesn’t sound offended when she says it, just strangely impressed. She places it back down and wanders around the room with Katya trailing behind her, looking at Katya’s pieces like they were in their own gallery, with added touching and occasional commentating.

“So do you have a medium that you focus on? Or are you a jack of all trades?” Trixie asks, glancing between canvases and sculptures.

“I don’t know,” Katya shrugs, “I never found anything to really focus on. I like to experiment with everything.”

Trixie hums. She then tilts her head at an unfinished canvas, trying to find the meaning in it. It’s cute.

She moves on to a table littered with the sculptures that Katya has scrapped together in bursts of caffeine-fueled frenzies.She picks up a baby doll whose head has been replaced with a lightbulb, the belly button carved out to fit a switch. “What’s this supposed to represent?” She asks, flipping the light switch. The lightbulb turns on, illuminating Trixie and Katya’s faces with a soft orange glow, then sparks, pops, and fizzles out.

Katya quickly takes it out of her hands and places it back on the table where she found it. “They’re not all winners,” she says. Trixie laughs at that, her boisterous voice echoing through the studio and reverberating back into their ears. 

She moves on to the old photographs hanging from thumbtacks in the wall. Katya seizes up. Those were taken a few years back, before she got sober. The only reason why she hasn’t thrown it out yet is because nobody comes up to her studio— and the fact that she hates throwing away any of her art. She figures if she keeps them around, they may give her inspiration for a bigger, more beautiful thing.

Trixie stops in front of Katya’s old photographs, carefully takes one of the thumbtacks out of the wall, holds it her hands, and chuckles. “I like this one,” she says, then shows it to Katya. The moment she sees it, she buries her face in her hands and groans in embarrassment. It’s a picture of herself sitting on a stool in a bikini with drawings and Russian phrases scribbled all over her body, her top pushed down to reveal her breasts. Her makeup is smeared across her face and her hair is ruffled. Cigarette smoke is escaping her lips, obscuring half her face. It’s a whole series she did about… God, she doesn’t even remember. Jail? Communism? She can’t even figure it out. 

“What?” Trixie asks, laughing and grasping Katya’s wrists to try and wrench them from her face. “Why are you embarrassed? It’s artsy and deep! I like it!”

Katya groans over her, not sure if she’s trying to block out Trixie or her brain producing nothing but high-pitched screeches. She eventually slides her palms down her face, dragging her bottoms lids with her until her hands fall off her face and they snap back into place. 

“You can complain all you want, but I like it,” Trixie declares, tucking the Polaroid in her bra for safekeeping. Part of Katya wants to snatch the photo out of Trixie’s bra, set fire to the collection— inspiration be damned— but the other, more logical side of her reasons that it’s too much of an effort to fight it. _Just let her have the damn picture, Katya._

There are several other photos of her in ski masks, in different sets of lingerie, in different poses. She has a couple of her on the floor, sitting on the stool, even a couple of her and Jinkx. She leads Trixie away before she sees those, heat blooming on her cheeks and down her back. It’s nothing too graphic, but she’s not sure she’s ready for Trixie to see the pictures of her legs wrapped around Jinkx’s bare hips.

She decided earlier that day that Trixie's not going to be her new Jinkx. She doesn't want to sleep with her on the first date. She did that with most of the women she took on dates and often felt like the relationships were too much all at once. They burned out quickly like cheap matches, leaving only ashes of a relationship in the end. Though Trixie is only staying a few days— and lord knows when Katya will see her again— she wants to take her time with her. She wants to cherish the kisses, the hand holding, the skin contact, for as long as she can. With all of her relationships, she’s wanted to speed it up. There was always a sense of urgency, like there was too much to do and never enough time. But with Trixie, she strangely feels like she has all the time in the world. “A few days” now sounds like “a few years,” while normally “a few years” sounds like “a few days.” Of course, she still thinks about fucking her hard and sweet, but she wants to savor her, put her on the top shelf like she would her favorite candy.

“Can you take photographs of me like that?” Trixie asks.

Under normal circumstances, Katya would cringe at the question. Nothing makes her less inspired than somebody fishing for a free photo shoot of themselves, but the way Trixie asks it makes her heart melt, like she’s asking a magician to do a trick. It’s endearing, Katya decides. She likes the idea of capturing her, permanently recording the slope of her jaw, the laugh lines etched in her cheeks, the makeup smeared across her lips.

“Alright, let me just find my stuff,” she says, digging under one of the tables for her camera bag. The leather is showing years of wear. It’s scratched and discolored, but it’s still holding itself together, so Katya has refrained from throwing it away. She takes out her nicer digital camera and her tripod, sets them up so they face the only empty wall. She runs to the front of the room, grabs a stool, and sets it in front of the camera, inches it to the right a bit, then the left, then back. She runs to the other side, grabs her light stand, and sets it up. She grabs Trixie’s shoulders and sits her down on the stool. The other woman giggles at how focused Katya is. She turns on her camera. “Okay so what do you wanna do? Just pose?” She asks Trixie.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think this far ahead,” Trixie admits.

Katya throws her head back and laughs. “Tell you what, darling. How ‘bout I do a couple profiles while you think about it. Does that sound good?”

Trixie nods, trying to flatten her curls, fix her makeup with her fingers. It doesn’t do much good, but Katya thinks that she could plaster cheap craft paint all over her face and she would still look stunningly pretty. 

She takes a couple of test shots and comes to the conclusion that Trixie has a face meant for the camera. Of course, she may be biased, but the way that her lashes curl, the way her eyes stare right through the camera right into Katya’s soul, enchants her.

“Can I see them?” Trixie doesn’t wait for the answer as she scoots off the stool and runs over to the camera. Katya flips through each picture for her as Trixie scoffs. “Delete that one, and that one, and that one,” Trixie says at each picture Katya shows her.

“This one is cute,” Katya comments and tilts the camera to show Trixie.

“No, that’s the worst one! My nose looks like a troll’s!” Trixie gasps. She sits back on her stool with a huff and says, “You have to do it over!”

Katya feels another flare of irritation, but immediately feels guilty for it. She raises her hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’ll take a couple more.”

“I know I’m being a diva right now, but I promise I looked bad in those pictures,” Trixie says.

“I believe you,” Katya lies. However, she doesn’t delete the pictures. She takes a couple more shots, all which look the same as the ones before. Trixie gets up to check them, but before she can, Katya asks, “Do you have an idea in mind yet?”

“Um,” Trixie says, turning her head to look around the room. She suddenly gasps and snaps her head back to Katya’s and asks, “Do you have one of those self-timers on your camera?”

“Sure do.” Katya taps it with her finger.

“Okay, hold on,” Trixie says. She jogs over to Katya’s wooden swivel chair in the corner and wheels it over, replacing the stool.

“Sit,” Trixie commands. Katya does, smiling up at Trixie, who puts her hands on her shoulders to orient her so that her side is facing the camera. The blonde runs to the camera, her blonde curls bouncing with her, and clicks on the self-timer. “Look at me,” Trixie says, and Katya does. She looks at her as the other woman crawls into her lap, her thick thighs weighing on her.

_Dear god, this girl_ , she thinks. “Are you trying to kill me, Trixie?” Katya wheezes out, afraid that her heart might actually give out. Trixie shifts.

“I’m sorry, am I too heavy? I’ll get off,” she says, worried. She moves to get off of her, but Katya clutches her thighs to keep her in place.

“No, that’s not what I meant, darling. Not what I meant at all. Just didn’t expect it,” she says.

Trixie holds Katya’s face so she looks up at her and Katya thinks she’s going to move to kiss her, but she immediately lets go as the camera clicks. She scrambles off Katya’s lap to check the picture while Katya sits in a daze. Her steely green eyes bore holes into the other’s skin, praying for the answers to her questions to fall from the blonde’s lips like cigarette smoke. 

“Ooh! I like how this one looks!” Trixie says. Katya moves to get up, but Trixie runs back over and pushes her back down. “No, no, I’m not done with you yet. You stay right there.” She swivels Katya’s chair so that it faces the camera and clicks on the timer. Trixie runs back over and sits herself on Katya once again. The dark blonde tries to move her face to look at her, but Trixie brings her face back over so she’s looking directly at the camera. Trixie keeps a hand on her jaw and brings her lips to Katya’s cheek.

Trixie takes a couple more, getting up after each one and resetting the timer. Katya lets her move her like a mannequin, lets her orient her how she needs for the pictures. When Trixie is thoroughly satisfied, she lets Katya get up to check the camera. The SD card is filled up with pictures of her and Trixie, aside from the profiles of Trixie, which Katya intends to keep for herself. 

“So what was your inspiration for this collection, Miss Mattel?” Katya asks.

“It’s like a testimony to our first date,” Trixie giggles.

“How ‘bout we look through the rest of these later and we can order some food now? I’m sure we can find something that’s open on a Sunday,” Katya says.

Trixie nods, content. She watches as Katya turns her equipment off, blinks as her eyes adjust to the newfound darkness. 

Outside, the rain still falls, patters quietly on the windowsill. The cars and people still bustle, but they feel a million miles away.

 

* * *

 

They find a Thai place that’s open and order their food. The tables are filled with Katya’s projects, so they decide to eat on the floor. Trixie orders tofu pad thai while Katya has chicken stir-fry, picking out the bamboo sprouts and placing them in Trixie’s container. Trixie, in turn, gives all of her mushrooms to Katya.

“So, when are you gonna develop those pictures?” Trixie asks through a mouthful of noodles.

“I’ll send a copy of them to you when I’m done,” Katya says.

Trixie swallows, then asks, “Did I give you my number yet?” When Katya shakes her head no, Trixie wipes her hands with a napkin and gets up, searching for a piece of paper. She find an empty page in one of Katya’s sketchbooks and rips it out, scribbling her number on the page. Katya expects her to hand her the page, but she instead goes over to the old photographs of Jinkx and Katya, takes the thumbtack out of the one of Katya’s legs curled around Jinkx's hips, and puts the page up there instead. She lets the photograph flutter to the ground and doesn’t attempt to pick it up as she strides back over to her food and sits down. She picks up her pad thai like nothing has happened and gives Katya a lopsided grin. “There,” she says proudly, “now you have it.”

Katya chuckles. “I was hoping that you weren’t gonna see those.”

“I did,” Trixie says, stabbing at a piece of tofu. “I’m not gonna ask who it is right now because I’d rather enjoy our date.”

“I’m not involved with her anymore,” Katya assures her.

“I would hope not, Miss. You better have those pictures of me hung up by the time I’m here next.”

“Speaking of,” Katya says, pushing aside her food. “When _are_ you gonna be here next? Wisconsin isn’t exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away from Florida.”

Trixie stays silent for a little while, not knowing what to say. “I’m not sure,” she admits, “but I really do like you, and I want to see you again.”

“Same here, darling,” Katya says, placing her hand on Trixie’s knee as a comforting gesture. 

Trixie picks at a peanut with her fork. “I don’t really want to think about that right now. I have a couple days left in Florida and I’d like to put them to good use.”

“Alright.” Katya squeezes her date’s knee, then picks her food back up. “How do you like your food?”

Trixie hums in delight and shoves another piece of tofu in her mouth to answer her. Katya laughs through her nose, taking a mental note that Trixie likes pad thai.

“How did you like Ginger’s wedding?” Trixie asks, “I forgot to ask you yesterday.”

“I liked it,” Katya says, chewing on her fork. “I told you that I’ve known Ginger and Christopher forever, so it was like watching a long, drawn-out rom com. Only I was able to interact with it every once in a while.”

Trixie tilts her head in amusement. “I liked it too. I wasn’t too much of a fan of the bridesmaid dress, though.”

“Violet was saying the same thing,” Katya laughs, “said it’s too much fabric.”

Trixie nods her head in agreement. “And it was red. Pink would have been a much better color.”

“Well that wouldn’t fit in too well with the whole Snow White theme.”

Trixie clicks her tongue. “The hats didn’t fit in, but we still wore them. I love Ginger to death, but her fashion choices are questionable.”

Katya screeches a laugh at that. “You said it, not me!” she says between laughs.

“It’s true!” Trixie lightly slaps her arm and laughs along with her. “I liked your suit though, it fit you nicely.”

Katya composes herself enough to answer, “And thank god! I didn’t envy you girls sweating in those gowns. And I would have to entertain one of Christopher’s friends all day. Wouldn’t have been an ideal day.”

“Good thing that one groomsman dropped out and we got paired together then, right?”

“I would say so, yeah.”

There is a pause. Trixie turns her attention to her pad thai, turning over the bean sprouts that Katya had given her with her fork. She stabs one with a fork.

“Do you want to get married?” Trixie asks, still staring at her food.

“That’s quite a question to ask on a first date, darling.”

Trixie snaps her head up, a blush spreading across her whole body. “Not like that!” She scrambles, “I just mean in the general sense!”

Katya furrows her eyebrows as she thinks, then raises her head to meet Trixie’s eyes again. “No, I wouldn’t want to be married to a man I could never love.”

“I want to get married one day. Not to a man, though,” Trixie says.

“You wanna get yourself a nice wife?” Katya laughs. “If _I_ can’t trick a pastor, then you would be kicked out before you even reached the altar. Those breasts and hips are a dead giveaway, darling.”

“Well, pastors are holy men! Maybe his eyes won’t be glued to my boobs like a certain someone I know,” Trixie says as she squishes her chest with her arms.

“What do you mean by that?” Katya says, actively trying not to flick her gaze down.

“Oh please, don’t act all innocent! I know you were staring at my boobs when we first met.”

A little shock goes up Katya’s spine. Whether it’s arousal or fear, Katya’s not quite sure. “Do I need to apologize for that?”

“No,” Trixie shakes her head. “I’m just pointing out facts.”

“Well, I think you’re an attractive woman. Just pointing out facts,” Katya retaliates.

Trixie rolls her eyes and smiles. “I could have figured that by now. I wouldn’t think you would let me make out with you and sit in your lap if you thought I was ugly.”

“Fair enough,” Katya says.

“For the record, I think you’re an attractive woman too.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence after Trixie says that, each content to pick at the rest of their food. They both smile at one another as they do.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, they clean up their food. The rain has cleared up, but the droplets on the windowsill still make the city seem hazy. It’s gotten late, so the people and the cars have thinned out a bit. The occasional taxi and drunk pass by, but the night feels heavy like a wool blanket on the city.

“What time is it?” Trixie asks, stifling a yawn.

Katya checks her watch. “Nearly eleven.”

“Jesus,” Trixie says, “should we head back?”

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” Katya says, trying not to let reluctance slip into her voice. She grabs her keys off her desk and offers her arm to Trixie, who takes it with a giggle.

“Thank god it stopped raining. My hair finally calmed down,” Trixie says. Katya takes a lock of it between her fingers, tugs at it a bit and giggles as Trixie swats her hand away. “Don’t mess it up!” she whines.

“Sorry, sorry,” Katya surrenders. She locks up the studio and walks outside with Trixie still on her arm.

The rain has made the pavement sparkle and reflect the neon lights of the city. The smell of wet asphalt permeates the usual smog. Katya usually likes the city better than the country, but she misses the smell of the mud, of the wet bark on trees, of the neighbors’ gardens weighed down with rain water. It’s precisely the reason why she could never move here. The city gives her the gift of blending in with the crowd, nobody knowing her and vice versa. However, she would miss the way the entire town plunges into darkness as everybody goes to sleep, and the way daffodils sprout up beside her mailbox, and how the dirt swirls underneath her car tires. Most of all, she would miss how Ginger knocks on her door, begging her to try this new recipe that she just found on the back of her box of rice. And she would miss Violet and how she bustles around the house doing laundry and vacuuming the rugs. She would miss her house. The city doesn't feel like home to her at all.

"Hey, Trixie?" Katya asks as they walk into the parking garage.

"Yeah?" Trixie answers, her voice suggesting sleepiness.

"Do you prefer the city or the country?"

"The country," she puts simply.

Katya smiles.

They make their way to the car and Trixie collapses in the passenger side. She takes off her heels and draws her knees up to her torso. Her painted toes curl into the seat as she rests her head against the side window. The car starts up more quietly than it ever has in Katya’s seven years of owning it. The soft folk voices of the radio suffuse through the car along with the air conditioning. She drives silently, avoids potholes and cracks as to not disturb the sleeping woman. Little snores escape her as she sleeps. Katya listens to them more than she does the radio. 

Katya feels the bubble surround the car once again. Her car stops in front of the Yellow Flower Motel and Trixie wakes up to ask her to stay in her room for the night because she doesn’t like sleeping alone. This time, it doesn't pop when the car doors open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are super appreciated!! This fic is largely unplanned (as you can probably tell), so I don't know if I could do a third chapter, but hey you never know!
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on my tumblr @ trixies-thighs

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are super appreciated!! If enough people like it, I'll consider making it a multi-chapter fic, but for now it's staying as a one-shot!
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on my tumblr @ trixies-thighs


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